


Getting Christmas Write

by bluecherries



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Small Town, Author Harry Styles, Bookshop Owner Louis Tomlinson, Christmas, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hate to Love, Inspired by Hallmark Christmas Movies, M/M, Niall Horan & Louis Tomlinson Friendship, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rating May Change, Slow Build, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:54:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28242711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluecherries/pseuds/bluecherries
Summary: Louis Tomlinson is a humble, small-town bookshop owner, and--despite his best efforts--his business is going under. So, in an eleventh-hour attempt to save his shop, he schedules a signing with famous (and famously difficult) author Harry Styles. The two immediately become mortal enemies; they couldn't hate each other more if they tried. When the weather traps Harry in this small town all through the holidays, things seem to be taking a turn for the worst.Forming a bond with each other was never part of the plan.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 10
Kudos: 12





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by @thebeckofficial's prompt on TikTok!
> 
> Hope this lives up to your expectations. Enjoy!

Louis is sitting crisscross on the shelf behind his checkout counter, skimming the pages of a book he’s probably read at least fifty times by now. It’s mostly quiet in his small, beloved bookshop, but that’s nothing new. People really don’t read as much as they used to (Louis entirely blames technology). But while it’s admittedly not much of a money-maker, he loves his little business; from the cozy feel of it to the endless shelves of books to the tiny “ding” the bell makes when someone walks in or out of the front door—Louis is in love with it all. 

He sets down the novel and sighs, scanning the aisles. The shop is mostly empty, save for an elderly couple and a teenage girl who’s been taking so many photos, Louis is 99% sure she’s only here for the “aesthetic”. 

The bell attached to the door rings, and Louis nearly gives himself whiplash looking to see who it is—hopefully, he thinks, a new customer. Those are few and far between, and Louis always gets excitable when one shows up. 

Fluffy brown hair and an electric smile come bounding in, shattering the quiet atmosphere, and Louis sighs. It’s not a new customer—far from it, in fact—instead, it’s his best friend, Niall, who, while beyond supportive, has never really been one to appreciate ambience. 

It’s not that he’s unhappy to see his best friend, no, it’s just that he was _really_ hoping for a customer. God knows he needs it, with the bookshop’s current financial situation. 

Niall picks up on his deflation. “Glad you’re so excited to see me, Tommo,” he says, pouting, and walks around the counter, sitting down. Louis rolls his eyes.

“I am, you prick. You know how excited I get when I think there might be a new customer, that’s all.”

“Yeah, well, if you’ve not got anything better to do,” he says, glancing around at the few stray shoppers. “And it seems to me like you don’t—the lads and I were going to the park to play a game of footie.”

Louis nods, his mind already made up. “Yeah, sure. Just let me close up and I’ll meet you outside.” Niall grins and gives him two thumbs up, and then he’s gone just as quickly as he came.

He hops down from his perch, pressing the intercom button on the desk and letting the customers know that they need to make their final purchases. Even though it might stunt his profit for the day, closing early is really a no-brainer; he loves hanging out with the lads, especially when it’s paired with one of his favorite hobbies.

Plus football’s always an effective way to take his mind off of how in the _hell_ he’s going to keep his business afloat. 

…

Louis is breathing heavily, body flushed with heat and covered in a thin film of sweat despite the freezing weather. He wipes his brow with the sleeve of his jumper and flops down on a bench; adrenaline still coursing through his veins from the game. 

If Louis thought he was drained, then he’s positively _peppy_ compared to Niall. His best friend is panting, sweat dripping down his face, and he lies down on the bench, spreading out and resting his head on Louis’ lap. Louis snorts. 

“I’m hot,” Niall complains, voice muffled by Louis’ trousers.

“It’s barely thirty degrees outside. You’ll be freezing again in two minutes.”

He groans again, and Louis chuckles, raising a hand to wave goodbye to the rest of the lads from across the field. 

The two sit in silence for a while, punctuated only by Niall’s huffing and puffing. Louis looks around, taking in the frost-tipped trees, the patches of snow covering grass, the pretty snowflakes drifting through the air... he’s absolutely enamored with this time of year, and, if he’s being honest, _this_ makes all of his troubles drift away. 

“Hey, Louis?” Niall says after a bit, breathing finally slowed to a normal pace. “Can I ask what you plan on doing about the shop?”

Louis sighs. So much for taking his mind off of that.

“I dunno. I did have this one idea, though. A lot of bookshops have authors come in for signings, readings, and such. ‘S a great profit boost. I think I might do that,” he says, looking down at Niall, who’s flipped over to stare back up at him. 

Niall nods. “Well, I hope it works, mate. I know how much you love that shop, and I’d hate to think of what’d happen if it doesn’t.”

Louis takes his eyes off of him, staring straight ahead into oblivion. 

“Me too, lad. Me too.”


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is so late! Things have been pretty hectic for me as of late. Enjoy, and happy New Year!

Louis sits on his messy, unmade bed, scrolling with intense focus through rosters of authors. Everyone he’s wanted to have so far has either been busy or—in one case—extremely rude in turning him down. He pauses his scrolling when he sees the photo of an author he recognizes, and the name attached to it: Harry Styles. 

The issue is, while Styles is, in layman’s terms, _pretty fucking famous_ , and is actually—Louis will admit it—a good writer, he’s also famously difficult to work with. Louis grumbles as he scrolls to the bottom of the page and realizes that Styles is basically the only option left that could possibly work. Sighing, he clicks on the name and the email attached and types out a quick proposition, pressing send before he can think better of it. 

Styles’ face stares back at him, almost judging, and Louis groans, closing his laptop. 

He hates this man already.

…

“I absolutely despise him, Niall.”

“You haven’t even met the guy yet. What if he ends up being really nice?”

Louis sighs. He’s pacing through Niall’s living room, fueled with anger, while his best friend sits on the couch, listening to him rant as he works his way through a family-size bag of Cool Ranch Doritos. 

“Everyone in the industry knows how big of a diva Harry Styles is. On a list of celebrities who most expect instant gratification and who have the biggest anger issues, he’d easily make the top.”

Niall shakes his head.

“So why’d you pick him if you hate him so much?”

“Well, A: he was pretty much my only option; and B: he’s a huge hit, and an even bigger money-spinner. People are going to be flocking in from everywhere to see Harry Styles.”

Niall nods, shoving another crisp in his mouth. “Good luck, mate,” he says, and Louis gives him a tight smile in return. 

He’s going to need it if he wants to survive this.

…

Three weeks roll by in a flash, and all of a sudden it’s finally time for Louis to face his self-proclaimed mortal enemy. He stands behind the front counter in his bookshop, posture unreasonably straight, and waits for the dreaded arrival. 

Suddenly, he hears the tell-tale bell ring, and his eyes widen. He somehow manages to straighten his posture even more as he gets his first in-person look at Harry Styles.

Louis mentally takes note of what he sees.

He’s tall. _Much_ taller than Louis expected. He’s got nearly four or five inches on Louis. 

He’s wearing a white t-shirt underneath a tan blazer patterned with little Gs (I _s that Gucci?_ Louis thinks. _Probably. Rich, pompous arsehole._ ), and a denim newsboy cap. 

Gelled, brown curls stick out from underneath the hat. His fingers are adorned with loads of rings, two of which, Louis notices, have his initials on them. Oh, and his fingernails have lavender paint on them. 

The main thing Louis notices, though, are his eyes. They’re green, but not the kind of green that most people have (where it’s essentially hazel). They’re _true emerald green_.

He’s disgustingly attractive. Louis resents it.

Styles’ agent rushes in next to him, flustered. He spots Louis at the front of the shop and momentarily looks relieved, dashing up to the counter. 

“Are you the owner?” He asks, worry lines apparent, and Louis feels sorry that this man is probably always this stressed out. 

“That’s me,” Louis says. He smiles politely. 

The agent beams and begins to ramble about procedures and requirements and whatnot, handing him paper after paper after paper. Meanwhile, Harry’s still standing in the middle of the shop, hands shoved into his pockets. He’s looking around, taking the place in, his face unreadable. 

When his agent is finally done speaking, he gestures for Harry to come over. He walks up to the desk, gives Louis a quick once-over, and instead of sticking out his hand for Louis to shake, he turns to his agent. “Where am I staying?” He asks, and Louis considers his hatred confirmed. 

The man explains his housing situation to Styles, but Louis hears none of it over his boiling rage. 

When they’re done conversing, his agent turns back to Louis.

“Alright. I’ll leave the two of you alone for a few minutes while I go take a phone call. Get to know each other!” 

He leaves, bell ringing as he walks outside, and Louis and Harry are left staring each other down.

Finally, Harry says, “You’ve really committed to the whole “Soft, English, scholarly librarian” aesthetic, huh? Everything about you looks like it came straight off of a Pinterest board.” Louis huffs. 

“I’m not a fucking librarian, Styles. I own a bookshop. A _bookshop_.” Harry grins, clearly pleased to see he’s managed to irk Louis. 

“The fact that that’s what you chose to correct me on tells me that I was right about everything else.” They stand in silence for a few moments, staring into each other’s eyes intensely, the fiery, immediate, hate-fueled feud between them building, bubbling and steaming and threatening to boil over, but Louis looks away, muttering under his breath and breaking the stand-off.

He was so, _so_ right about Harry Styles. He’s a holier-than-thou arsehole who instigates arguments just to get his kicks.

Styles’ agent can’t come back soon enough. And when he finally does, and the two of them leave his shop, he curses himself out loud for thinking this was a good idea. 

Harry Styles is going to be the death of him. 


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! Sorry this chapter was so late, school's been a bit of an overload lately and I've had the worst writer's block. Anyways, here's chapter three! Enjoy! :)

“You want me to _what_ now?”

Styles’ assistant (whom Louis has come to find out is named Liam, and who Louis thinks is actually a really nice guy) nods his head. “Show him around town, if that’s alright with you. I just think it’s important if you two bond a bit. Besides, he doesn’t know anyone else, and to be honest, you’re the only person I really know to trust.”

Louis really wants to tell him “fuck no”, get up, and walk out, but to be honest he sort of feels bad for Liam. The poor guy is clearly at the end of his rope, and considering he has to deal with Harry Styles every day, he’s most likely not in the best mental state.

 _Fine,_ he thinks. _I’ll do this for Liam_.

“Okay,” he says, the lack of enthusiasm in his voice apparent. Liam either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care, because he gives Louis a weak smile and Harry’s number, much to Louis’ dismay. 

He doesn’t want Harry Styles’ phone number. He doesn’t want any form of communication between them, let alone anything that could be misconstrued as friendly. 

But he supposes there’s not really an option. 

Louis sighs and bends over to rest his elbows on his knees, lacing his hands behind his neck and staring at the floor. 

Christ, he’s even starting to wonder if all of this is worth it. 

…

Louis’ thumb hovers over the “send” button, having a mental war with himself over whether to press it or not. He's typed out:

_Liam wants me to show u around town. before you start bitching about it, im not excited either, believe me. what time should I pick u up?”_

Louis sighs and squeezes his eyes shut, pressing the send button before he can think better of it and promptly throwing his phone across the room. 

He sits there in silence for about six minutes, staring into oblivion and contemplating what horrible life choices could possibly have lead him to this, before he hears his phone buzz from across the room, snapping him out of his trance. 

He hesitantly picks it up, glancing at the screen.

_two pm tomorrow is fine ig_

Louis sighs. It’s done. He’s fully committed, and there’s no turning back now. Well, maybe. Maybe he could pretend to come down with strep throat. Or say his nan just died. No, it’d just get postponed until a later date. He’s still going to have to do this eventually. 

_Shit,_ he thinks. _I hate my goddamn life._

…

“What the hell are you wearing?”

“What do you mean?” Harry frowns, looking down at his outfit. He’s wearing a fuzzy blue jumper, a pair of the most beat-up vans Louis has ever seen, and very flowy cream pants that Louis can tell buckle all the way at the bottom of his ribcage. 

“Those pants aren’t even high-waisted at this point, they’re rib-waisted.”

“I didn’t know I was getting a style consultation,” he grumbles, getting into the passenger seat of Louis’ car and slamming the door behind him. Louis shrugs, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. 

“Your last name is Styles. Figured you’d have a better fashion sense.”

“Hey, my fashion sense is good! Just because I don’t look like a British stereotype doesn’t mean I don’t have style.”

“I’ll have you know that I do not dress like a British stereotype.”

“Please. I could hear your exact voice before you even opened your mouth.”

“Whatever,” Louis grumbles, pulling into the road. This is going to be a miserable few hours.

After several awkwardly silent minutes filled only with the noises of the radio quietly playing in the background and, occasionally, Louis’ blinker, they drive into a long road lined with small shops, the lampposts adorned with garlands. Harry stares out the window, looking around. 

“I think I remember seeing this when we first drove to your bookshop,” Harry murmurs, and Louis nods.

“Yeah, probably. This is Flagler Avenue. See, my shop’s right down there,” he says, pointing down the street. 

Harry hums in agreement, and Louis thinks that this is probably the highest level of agreeability he’s capable of. 

Louis shows him everything; the park, the shopping centre, the little neighbourhoods. By the time they’re done, it almost feels like they’ve reached some level of mutual respect.

Harry steps out of Louis’ car once they pull up to his AirBNB and shuts the door behind him, bending down to look at Louis through the open window.

Louis doesn’t know why he expected a thank you, but for some reason, he did. Instead, however, Harry smiles at him, and Louis feels something inside him twist. Almost in a good way.

He pushes it down and tries to suppress his own smile.

A moment later, however, Louis’s hopes—however small they might be—are crushed when Harry sticks his middle finger up at him, still smiling, and promptly walks away. Louis glares at his retreating figure and mentally kicks himself for ever thinking he could be nice.

“Fuck you, you fucking loser!” He yells at the top of his lungs just as Harry’s unlocking his front door, and drives away. That’s sure to earn him some noise complaints. This neighbourhood’s chock-full of families, and at least a few of them are guaranteed to have heard him scream curses.

Louis smiles to himself, despite the fact that there’s pure rage running through him.

Fuck Harry Styles and his stupid fashion sense and his stupid manipulative tendencies.


	4. Chapter Four

Louis steps through the door of his favourite (so what if it’s the only one in town? It’s still his favourite) coffee shop, his senses overwhelmed with cinnamon and soft chatter and coffee grounds and _warmth_. He takes a deep breath, the tight feeling in his chest melting away. 

Thank god for the sweet release that is caffeine. 

He walks up to the counter and taps his fingernails on the marble restlessly, waiting for the one person who is able to talk to and mollify him without making fun of him. Out walks a man with soft, dark hair and a clean-cut beard, dark eyes framed by thick eyelashes. _Zayn_ , Louis thinks, letting out a breath of relief. He waves at him, smiling as best he can considering the circumstances (and by circumstances, he means Harry Styles).

Zayn waves back, flashing his trademark insanely-white grin, and heads over to him, taking off his apron. 

“Hannah, I’m gonna take my break now, m’kay?” He says to a woman, and jogs over to Louis, leaving the double-dutch doors swinging behind him. 

“Hey,” he says. “Wanna sit?” Louis nods tiredly and practically collapses into a chair near the window, Zayn sitting down across from him. 

“Is everything okay?” Zayn asks, worry written across his features as he looks Louis up and down, taking in his tense position, nervously bouncing leg, fidgeting fingers, and all-too-apparent dark circles. “Louis,” he says, reaching across the table to grip his hands and hold them still. “Please tell me what’s wrong.”

Louis can already feel his eyes watering. “I fucking hate him. He makes my life so hard, and for what? What did I ever do to him? And I know it’s all my fault that he’s doing this to me, because I’m the one who brought him here in the first place, and-“

“Woah, woah,” Zayn says, cutting him off. “Slow down. Who?”

“Harry Styles. I invited him here for a book signing because it was the only way left to save the shop and I knew how horrible of a person he is, and I still did it, and now…” Louis’s lip quivers. 

“Louis, look at me. Whatever this prick is doing to you, it’s his fault, not yours. He’s the one who decided to be an arsehole.”

Louis glares at the table, halfway-lost in his own thoughts. “I hate him and his stupid perfect curls and his stupid gorgeous green eyes and his stupid fashion sense and his stupid painted nails that he pulls off and his stupid rings and his…” Louis rambles on, and Zayn simply raises an eyebrow, deciding not to call him out and risk making his mood worse.

Louis finishes and lets out a shaky breath, willing himself not to cry. “I don’t get why he’s so horrible to me.”

Zayn sighs and holds out his arms. “Come here.” Louis complies, walking around and practically falling into Zayn’s arms, burying his face in his soft shirt.

 _Zayn gives good hugs_ , he thinks, and relaxes into the warmth. 

“Does this mean I get free coffee?” He mumbles, and Zayn laughs.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“Just tell that Hannah girl your best friend is having a mental breakdown due to being the victim of psychological tormenting.”

“I’m not sure that’s going to work.”

“Ah, but see, you underestimate the powers of guilt-tripping.”

“Alright, I’ll try,” Zayn says, shaking his head and peeling Louis off of him. Louis sits back down in his seat, staring up at him with red eyes, a snotty nose, messy hair, and a pouty face. 

“Just so you know, you look about six years old right now,” he says, grinning and walking off. Louis’ jaw drops open.

“And here I thought you were the only one left who hadn’t been corrupted by Niall. Everyone has turned on me,” he says loudly, and he can see Zayn subtly flip him the bird. Louis smiles. 

At least he has this.

And coffee. If that Hannah girl doesn’t allow him the privilege of a freebie, Louis is going to perform a long, loud monologue about the unfairness of this cruel world in the middle of the shop until she gives in.

…

Louis sits on the floor of his bookshop, back rested against the cool wood of his desk, engrossed in a paperbacked novel with thin pages and old-fashioned print and far too many creases to belong to him (Louis prefers bookmarks, he considers dog-earing grievous abuse). No, in actuality it had been his mother’s. He’s still undecided on whether he can forgive her for a crime such as dog-earing a book.

Louis doesn’t so much as look up when he hears the bell ding. “We’re closed,” he yells, and when he doesn’t hear a response, he looks up and finds none other than Harry Styles standing in the aisle, staring him down.

“If you’ve come here to murder me, I regret to inform you that I keep a knife in my desk, and I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but I’m a fair bit closer to said desk than you,” he says, still unmoving.

“Unfortunately, no. I, uh, I needed something to read. Left all my books at home, and I can’t go long without reading.”

Louis hums. “Yeah, okay, whatever. Pick something.” He waves vaguely to the aisles and goes back to his novel. Harry nods, shuffling his feet, and begins to scan the shelves. Louis doesn’t even notice he’s sat down across from him, leaning against the wall, until the sounds of someone murmuring under their breath pull him out of the story. The prick is actually _reading out loud_. 

Louis sighs and puts his book in his lap, keeping a finger between the pages to remember where he is.

“Could you be quiet? I can’t hear myself slowly losing the will to live.” Harry looks up, eyebrows raised.

“Oh, was I reading aloud?” Louis nods passive aggressively. 

“Sorry. I do that sometimes. I don’t mean to, it just… happens. Don’t even know I’m doing it.”

Louis grumbles under his breath and goes back to reading. Only moments later, he’s interrupted yet again. 

“Is that Proust?” Harry asks, looking at Louis’ book. He nods slowly, brow furrowed.

“You know Proust?”

“’Course I know Proust. What kind of author would I be if I didn’t?”

“Pretty shit one.”

“ _Finding Time Again_ was better.”

“What?”

“ _Finding Time Again_. The fourth book in the series. That,” he points at Louis’ book. “Is _In the Shadow of Young Girls in Flower_. The second one. I’m saying the fourth was better.”

“No, I heard you, I’m just trying to comprehend how anyone could think that _Finding fucking Time Again_ is the best one.”

“Hey, arsehole, it beautifully displays how art can recover and therefore conquer time.”

“Yeah, okay. _In Search of Lost Time_ is the best, and I stand by that.”

“Basic.”

“Fuck you. What are you doing here anyways? Can’t you go torment someone else?”

“ _I don’t know anyone else_ ,” he mutters under his breath.

“Huh?”

“Nothing,” he says, putting on a cold face. “Fine. I’ll leave.” He gets up and starts to walk out, but Louis stops him as he’s reaching for the door handle. 

“Wait, you still have the book,” he calls after him, standing up.

“Oh, right,” Harry says, and looks down at the book in his hand.

“It’s whatever. Just keep it. But if you don’t bring it back by tomorrow when you come in for the signing, I can’t be held responsible for my actions.”

Harry shakes his head and walks out the door, once again leaving Louis to the silence of his bookshop. Somehow, it’s more lonely this time.

“Fuck Harry Styles!” Louis yells, and sets his jaw.

He hates him. He really does.


End file.
